The Combat Codes (11 page)

“Let’s get away from the hawkers… Never know what you’ll end up buying from the crafty ones during midshift,” Murray said. He’d been trying to get the kid talking, have him open up about his past, but it had been difficult to get him to even open his mouth.

As they approached the stadium, the bustle on the street grew thicker, with swarms of Deep folk jostling their way toward the daily fights at Lampai. Murray watched Cego swivel his head at the sights, sounds and smells that infiltrated every street corner.

The Grievar-kin stood out amongst the plethora of laborers and hawkers. Thickly muscled, scarred, grizzled, and gnarled, the Grievar walked boldly under the light, their chests puffed out and their muscles bulging, intricate flux tattoos adorning their bodies like works of art.

Murray caught Cego staring at some of the bare-skinned Grievar. The flux ink adorning their bodies swirled and reformed under the strong midshift light. A bear tattoo on an exposed chest reared up on its hind legs and swiped its paws menacingly. An octopus tattoo on another Grievar’s back expanded and unfurled, reaching with its tentacles down the man’s arms and legs.

Murray could feel his own flux tattoos shifting under the light, even from underneath his thick cloak. He could sense each tattoo as if it had a personality, a unique characteristic he’d acquired during his path.

“Flux tattoos,” Murray said to Cego. “They used to mean something. Now Grievar get whatever fits their darkin’ fancy.”

Closer to the stadium, the two passed a Daimyo caravan pulled by a pack of Grunts, thick-shouldered haulers whose sole purpose was to drag their noble master around. Even though the Daimyos had mechs for transport without slave labor, many preferred to
show off
with an entire mobile caravan, complete with Grunts pulling the vehicles from the helm, pleasure shrine girls draped across the inner chambers, and armed mercenaries surrounding the entire procession.

The Daimyo noble at the center of the caravan was shielded from the street as usual with a glass pod surrounding him, likely electrified to the touch and with mounted stunners along the frame.

Murray could see the blue-veined man staring out from behind the glass, though, watching the rabble on the street. Even with the shield between them, Murray wondered if he could put his fist through it and crush the frail creature’s skull if he timed it right. His heart quickened at the thought.

One of the mercs guarding the caravan eyed Murray suspiciously as they passed each other. The man looked to be a Grievar, yet he carried Daimyo tech—a thick steel rod that pulsed with a menacing blue current. Murray had felt the effects of an auralite-forged weapon before. The second the rod made contact, it took your knees out from under you, made you want to curl up into a ball and give up.

“No tools, no tech,” Murray growled as he passed by the merc. The man flinched but continued to march forward.

Before they reached the square in front of Lampai, Murray guided Cego away from the main thoroughfare toward a smaller side street that looped around the back of the stadium.

Cego never asked questions about where they were going, but Murray could tell the kid was thirsty for knowledge. Murray had been the same way when Coach had brought his team out on expeditions around Mercuri or to foreign lands beyond the borders. Everything was new, each sight unique.

Murray had planned on taking the kid straight to Anderson’s, maybe let Leyna make him some of those famed Deep cakes of hers. Certainly would be an improvement over that green slop they called food at Thaloo’s. First, though, Murray decided he’d bring the kid to a place he himself hadn’t visited in ages.

The pair walked in silence beyond clamor of the stadium and followed the small path toward Daeomons Hill, a steep, rocky incline that lead up to the back side of the steppe.

When he’d just set out on his path, Murray could remember sprinting up Daeomons Hill for endurance training, purposely setting his lungs on fire so that the burn wouldn’t seem so bad in the Circle. With his fight with the Dragoon looming, Murray wanted to test himself again.

“Ready for a bit of a workout?” Murray looked down at the boy, who nodded silently.

Murray tried to think about the Dragoon as he and the boy started up the hill. Though he’d made progress with Anderson over the past two weeks, he still was nowhere in the shape he’d need to be to keep up with a much younger Grievar.

Murray’s heart started to thump in his chest as he visualized the upcoming fight. The spectral light filtering from Lampai’s giant arrays, the crowd boisterous and zoned in on the two Grievar in the Circle. The thrill and anticipation right before the bout began, a steady tingling in his belly that would give way to a euphoria that filled his chest, surging through his arms and legs, guiding him toward his opponent.

Murray pushed his pace as the hill inclined sharply, cutting away the view of the steppe above. He looked at Cego at his side, who seemed to be thinking the same thing as him—get to the top. The boy’s golden eyes gleamed with determination as he continued to push the pace up the hill, his short legs taking two strides for every one of the big mans’.

Soon, Murray and the boy were running full steam, scrambling up the rocky ravine toward the top of the cliff face. Murray could feel the wear of his old body, his joints creaking as his legs pumped faster.

Though he was worn down, something felt different. He was going somewhere. He wanted this fight. He looked to the boy, striding up the hill without fear, only looking forward to his next step.

Murray’s heart beat rapidly in his chest as he launched himself forward. The two left an avalanche of gravel behind them as they scrambled up the hill. The last ascent was the steepest—the pair needed to throw their hands to the rocky surface to keep their balance as they clawed for the top.

Murray’s body wanted to give way, like an old pod line that wasn’t meant to be working any longer. The Dragoon wouldn’t stop, though. The Dragoon wouldn’t be forgiving like this hill. Cego’s freedom wouldn’t be forgiven either—the boy depended on Murray. He needed him to fight through the burn.

Murray let out a deep cry from his chest. “Ossuu!”

He fell to his knees, finally at the top of the hill. His chest heaved up and down like a bellows trying to keep a dying fire lit. Cego stood next to him, breathing hard now but with a calm look in his golden eyes.

Murray huffed, “Used to be easier!”

The pair surveyed their surroundings. From the top of Daeomons Hill, the view of the Underground was unique.

The cavern glowed with yellow iridescence cast down by the giant elemental arrays laid into the scrimshaw ceiling thousands of meters up. Spectrals danced around the arrays like swarms of glowing moths.

Grey buildings sprouted from the bedrock and paved streets zigzagged between the buildings, broadening into wide thoroughfares and narrowing into thin alleys.

To the north, the Lift looked like a giant tree, its roots burrowing into the cavern floor, creeping under the gridded streets, its trunk rising into the shadowy cave ceiling. To the west, the midshift light bathed the market district like an undulating current, ebbing and flowing along with the bustle of the city center below.

Murray’s eyes shifted to the center of the city, where Lampai Stadium burst from the bedrock like a gem glittering in the Deep. Hordes would stream into Lampai every day at the height of the lightshift to watch the Underground’s top Grievar in action. In one week, Murray would be standing within a Circle at Lampai’s apex, facing the Dragoon.

Murray breathed out slowly.

The steppe was now directly in front of the two, layers of fertile growth built alongside a central stairway, rows of glowing moss and lichen crops clinging to the bedrock on each level. The crops were fed by Dagmar Falls, which spewed from an opening above and was then channeled along to the rows of each level for irrigation.

Cego’s eyes were wide as usual, taking it all in. His breath was misty in the damp, fertile air beneath Dagmar Falls.

Murray broke the silence. “Thought you’d enjoy the view.”

Cego surprised Murray then, speaking methodically. “It reminds me of home.”

“Where in the Deep are you from, kid?” Murray nodded at the various Underground districts laid out across the plateau below them.

Cego continued to stare out at the steppe and the falls beyond it. He slowly responded, “I don’t know.”

After the trauma many slave brood went through, getting ripped away from their families or worse, it wouldn’t surprise him if Cego had blocked out the past. Murray decided to change the subject.

“Hey. Do you know how to swim, kid?”

Cego’s eyes lit up. He nodded and Murray breathed a sigh of relief.

“Follow me.” Murray motioned for Cego to trail him up toward the steppe.

The two began to climb the ancient staircase, moving past luminous rows of growth on each level. Cego stared, clearly astonished, as the crops pulsed in a dizzying array of green hues, ranging from the gaudy bright fluorescence of lichens to the dark, forest bloom of the mosses. Growers were heaving out large bags of fertilizer from storage sheds on each level, and hundreds of harvesters were out working in the crops.

Murray and Cego reached the top of the steppe and walked to the base of Dagmar Falls. White spray soaked the two as they moved single file around the edge of the falls and then behind the rushing water.

A small cave behind the falls opened into to a stone passageway illuminated by dull source sconces set into the walls. Wordlessly, Cego followed Murray, the sound of the rushing water slowly fading behind them as they continued upward.

The pair emerged into a wide cavern. In front of them, a glassy lake shimmered turquoise, illuminated by the now-nascent dusklight streaming through a hole in the cavern ceiling.

With a sweeping gesture, Murray signaled their arrival. “Lake Dagmar.” Though the majority of the lake to the east was often crowded with visitors, this particular section was kept secret by a select few.

Murray watched Cego dive beneath the glassy sheen of the lake. The kid swam like an otter, staying beneath the water for minutes at a time before surfacing for air. He looked like he belonged in the water, just as he’d appeared to belong in the Circle.

The way that Cego had stood motionless, waiting for his opponent, utilizing only the minimal amount of energy to finish them, replayed in Murray’s head. Where had he learned to fight like that? How could brood so young have such ability?

Murray caught Cego’s eyes for a moment, the kid looking back at him with that strange blank stare, as if he were occupying a completely different world. Cego closed his eyes and dove back beneath the water.

*

Cego was thrashing through the waves again.

The night sky blanketed the world as the two brothers swam the Path. Cego and Sam followed the green trail of plankton toward the distant horizon, the same Path that Silas had taken over one thousand days ago.

They’d left the Island behind. They’d left the old master behind.

Something was wrong, though.

Silas had completed his training before he’d taken the Path. He’d fought Farmer.

Watching Silas fight Farmer had been like watching a boulder falling from the top of a cliff. Though Silas had been the strongest of the three brothers, it had been viscerally apparent that the old master would reach his destination as certainly as the falling boulder rides gravity to the ground. That wry smile had been missing from Silas’s face that day.

That fight with Farmer had been Silas’s last training exercise—a ritual that signified he was ready to leave the Island and follow the Path.

Sam was far from ready, though. The youngest brother had left without Farmer’s approval. Sam had always been too curious; he didn’t have the patience to wait his turn. He’d recklessly leapt into the waves and Cego had followed him.

Cego told himself he followed Sam because he wanted to save him. Sam was weaker than him; he needed to protect him. In truth, though, Cego knew he was curious just like his little brother. He didn’t want to stay on the Island with the old master any longer. He wanted to follow the Path and see what awaited him on the distant horizon. He wanted to see where Silas had gone.

Cego tried to pick up his pace to catch up with Sam, but his brother maintained the distance between them. Against the green luminescence of the Path, Sam’s figure was a dark silhouette.

The two swam endlessly until the Island disappeared from view behind them. For a moment, the world was in balance; the darkness of the sky above an equal to the murky depths below, the horizon suddenly seeming as close as the shore they’d left from, the green glimmering Path connecting their past and future.

Maybe they’d make it. Maybe they were
ready.

Sam disappeared from the surface of the water. Cego could only see the crest and fall of the waves where his little brother had last been swimming.

Cego threw himself forward with all of his strength. His swim out had been a calculated effort, trading speed for efficiency. Now Cego forgot about efficiency. He used every fiber of his coiled body to propel himself through the water.

Cego approximated where he’d last seen Sam on the surface and exhaled deeply before letting air fill his lungs to capacity. He dove under the glassy sheen.

Cego launched himself toward Sam’s sinking body but the water hardened. The viscous liquid held Cego in place.

He couldn’t move as he watched Sam’s little body sink in front of him. He tried in vain to reach toward Sam, but the water was too thick for him to even extend his hand. The liquid wrapped around his body like a serpent, immobilizing his muscles, slowly choking him.

As the world faded, Cego looked toward the surface for a glimmer of light. There was nothing but darkness above.

*

Cego stayed quiet on the walk back down the steppe with Murray. The duskshift was subsiding and hordes of harvesters were packing up their day’s work among the crops.

As he trudged downward, Cego tried to forget about what had happened the previous day in the yard, but he couldn’t. Weep’s lifeless eyes kept coming back to him.